


Enticement

by vanillarival (paperdoodles)



Category: Mindscape (Webtoon)
Genre: First Date, Other, emery gets drunk at one point, god i love them, help? im just going off. rip mindscape fandom but i got attached FAST, intersex hc, thsi is majorly a joke., uh Simon drinks scotch and emery drinks wine? if that’s a trigger for anyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdoodles/pseuds/vanillarival
Summary: Simon Stadoor meets his future spouse. They go on a date.
Relationships: Simon Stadoor/Emery Emerson





	Enticement

Simon wasn’t sure whether to shave or not.

Honestly, he thought that his stubble was quite nice. It added flavor to his lackluster personality. However, he wasn’t sure if his date would appreciate his scruffiness.

His date…

The refined and poised Emery Emerson. Who could forget a name like that? When he thought about it, he found it’d be impossible to forget the name of someone who had recently landed a recurring role in his mind. 

He remembers meeting them clearly. He was in a hurry to attend a lecture and bumped into someone slender, someone who looked like a model. This person was Emery, as he would later find out.

While they looked at him in disgust and adjusted their posture, Simon couldn’t help but stare. Everything about them seemed so deliberate. Their short hair was put into a ponytail that stuck out upwards, with a single strand of hair framing the left side of their face. Their beige jacket rested upon their shoulders by the miracle that was their perfect posture. The eyeliner that was drawn from the center of their lower lash line downwards was at a sharp point.

Emery seemed rather used to stares like his. They themselves were quite the oddity, and they seemed begrudgingly aware of it. Once Simon realized he was being rude, he apologized and made off to his lecture.

When they met for the second time, it seemed as if Emery had completely forgotten their first meeting. 

. . .

Simon regularly played at a jazz bar nearby where he lived. He preferred to render modern pieces into the genre. It felt like a puzzle for him, and he had the tools and skills to solve it. People admired him for it, and he was glad they did. With his rich understanding of music and deep, crimson voice, he felt a sense of euphoria whenever he performed. He was good and he knew it. 

Imagine his surprise when that same stranger walked into the bar, just about three months later. While he hadn’t thought much of them after run in, any and all confidence he had was immediately simmered over the piping hot stove called Emery Emerson. 

They wore a short, black dress this time, partnered with a large maroon coat and a pointy pair of flats. Simon only knew this because he couldn’t help but look them up to down. 

But not noticeably. If Emery had noticed, even after three months, he would’ve left the bar and never played a piece again. 

Regardless, he was next to play a piece on stage. Emery hadn’t noticed him at this point...but they soon would. Simon was objectively good, and he refused to let this stranger get in the way of that.

The lights dimmed. He knew what that meant. 

Simon walked up the stage, feeling the velvety curtain brush against his arm. Finally in his seat, he adjusted his jet black tie and set down his blazer. 

The piano started to sound. As he played a few measures, he completely lost himself. He couldn’t feel the room get quieter because of it. The room shifted, but Simon stood still. 

He parted his lips. Suddenly, Simon Stadoor is significant.

People paid attention, this time. The piano only did so much for his voice, which was...rich. Rich is a poor way to describe it. Simon Stadoor is not a man of emotion, but in these moments, you would be fooled. His voice was emotion itself.

Emery looked up. 

Before them—a man, somewhat disheveled, playing brashly and without restraint. He wreaked havoc on the ivory keys and weeped unapologetic emotion. Everything he said had a meaning. It was chaos, unlike Emery had ever seen before, simply because they chose not to...but at this time...they simply couldn’t stop staring. Simon did not cry. Emery swears he did.

When he stopped, the everyone in the bar stood still before erupting into applause. Simon gave a downwards glance...and there they stood. Emery. Applauding.

Soon afterwards, Simon found it in himself to approach them, maybe an hour or two later. He took a seat beside them. 

Emery looked over, almost nervous, but not quite. As they held a glass of red wine in their hand, they asked, “who are you, and how haven’t we met?”

Simon had to take a second. How hadn’t they met? They had already…

He realized this was an opportunity to advance.

“It’s rude to ask someone’s name without saying your own first. My name is Simon Stadoor.” 

“Ah…,” they said, “where are my manners...I’m Emerson. Emery Emerson. Local fashion agent and part-time model.” They put down their glass to take a good look at Simon.

Simon suspected this wasn’t their first glass. Nonetheless, he...sat there, unmoving, as Emery ran a full body scan of him without a lifting a finger—somehow, with just their eyes.

They fixed their posture again and took a sip of their wine. “So, Stadoor. What do you do for a living?” Not a mere second later, they looked down, and said “this. You do this. I apologize, I’m…” 

Simon just said, “I know.” After a brief pause, he sighed, knocked on the table twice, and said “I’m a psychiatry student right now. I’m in my 3rd year of medical school, and this...it pays the bills.” 

“Your third year...assuming you didn’t take a gap year, that puts you at...age 24? 26?” 

“If you wanted to know my age, you could’ve just asked. I’m 25.”

Emery laughed and took another sip. “Where are...where are your manners? I’m 23. I’m actually considering studying to be a therapist right now. Because you...you’re so…”

They made a gesture, more or less just pointing at Simon haphazardly. 

He looked at them as they tried to articulate. Their periwinkle eyes kept focusing on nothing, to then move and stare again, distantly. It seemed they were a lightweight. They were, without a doubt, drunk. Nothing they said was cohesive.

A bartender came over, and Simon asked for a scotch. He figured he should try to loosen up, seeing as he was sitting next to a model. 

As the time went by, Simon listened to Emery. They weren’t a mess by any means—despite being drunk, their speech wasn’t slurred and they still tried to keep a good posture. Simon learned a lot about them then—about their family, their job, and the reason they came.

“Right, well, my friend came here once,” they started, looking at their wine. “She said there was a guy...a pianist...who she thought I’d like. She said he was quite scruffy and almost disheveled despite always wearing a tuxedo during his performances, to which said performances...made you forget there was anyone at all.” Now looking at Simon, they asked, “do you think she meant I’d be interested in you, of all people?”

He thought about it. While brash, they made a good point just by insinuating it—someone like them couldn’t possibly like someone like him. Before he could even respond, he felt a grip on his shoulder.

“Ah—oh dear. I am falling,” they said, nearly falling out of their chair, and holding on to Simon for dear life. 

Now fully pressed into him, they looked at Simon and said, “I think…she was right.”

**Author's Note:**

> idk how to feel? if anyone’s reading this i kinda just went off. i like their vibes even though I know nothing about them. im bored.


End file.
